


Years Beyond Count

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Asshai, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-05-30 12:24:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6423877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"One day, Melisandre prayed, she would not sleep at all. One day she would be free of dreams. Melony, she thought. Lot Seven."</p><p>Melisandre, and her time in Asshai.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tags and warnings will probably change as more chapters are added.

 

 

They were close enough now that Melony could see the city as vague shapes through the dark fog. Asshai. She had first heard its name right before she was taken onto the ship, by the red priest, the one who had bought her. He had told her she was lucky, to be bought by the Red Temple, that it was a great honor to be chosen to serve Rhllor. _If I were so lucky, I would not have been made a slave at all_ , she thought. It was hard to feel lucky when you were bound in chains.

The two masters and the priest marched them forward from the port, into the city. 

* * *

 

She was a slave now, Lot Seven, not Melony, she reminded herself. She needed to remember. It was dangerous to forget that, Seneah had whispered to her that first night at sea. Melony had loudly protested to one of the masters on board that her name was Melony, not Lot Seven, which had earned her a harsh slap on the face. When the slaves were brought below the deck to the lower level of the ship, she was put next to Seneah, a girl of fourteen, with bright green eyes and long, pale silver-toned hair that she always kept braided. 

Seneah had been born a slave in Myr, trained there as a scribe and tutor, before she was brought to Lys, to be auctioned. Sometimes she would tell Melony what she knew of Asshai, even a few words of the Asshai'i language, but she made sure to warn her about the Red Priests, telling her not to trust them, but that at least she would be safe inside their temple, safer then she would be in the city. The temple was the only part of Asshai where there were children, as far as she knew. 

"They won't harm any servant of R'hllor," Seneah had assured her. "Not the children, at least. You'll still be a slave, of course, and you'll be expected to serve them. They still make you wear the slave collar and their red robes, but you won't be mistreated, and you'll have food and shelter. " The danger of the temple was in their teachings, not their punishments. 

"What if I don't want to serve R'hllor? What can they do, turn me out? Send me away?" she had argued back. Then, quietly Melony said "I don't _want_ to serve them," though mostly to herself.

"Do you think you have a choice?  Its not as if you can get back to Lys on your own." She had tried to look after the younger girl, to help her if she could, but Melony could be frustratingly stubborn. Seneah didn't want to frighten her, but she had to make her see how dangerous Asshai could be, especially for a child. It even scared her, and she was almost of age herself. 

"And you're going to the temple, you'll be a scribe for them? " Melony asked. 

"No," she said looking away as she spoke, "When the ship goes to Qarth, I am to be sent as a scribe for one of the merchants there, a tutor for his household."

 

* * *

 

It was two weeks after the ship made its stop at Qarth before they reached Asshai.

This was not her home, she told herself, as she looked into the city. Her home was in Lys, with her mother. She was still there, at least. Maybe she could escape, return home eventually. She remembered her mother, calling out her name right at the end, those last few seconds before she was sold. Her father, he was also a slave now, but he didn't go on the same ship. She didn't know where he was going. After the auction, she had asked one of the masters about him, but he either didn't know or didn't wish to tell her. 

She kept walking, toward the temple.


	2. Chapter 2

The Red Temple of Asshai was not even red. It was built of huge, carven black stones piled on top of one another. Atop a high stone hill, it seemed to perch above the city like a watchtower. Narrow but sturdy grey steps were carven into both the east and west sides of the hill. At the top of the steps, the hill appeared flat and smooth, and its surface was made of the same black stone as the temple, not the rougher granite that formed the hill below. Ahead, Melony noticed how the three massive arches of the entryway were patterned with small, intricate runes that gave off a faint, shimmering red glow despite the lack of sunlight.

"Lot Seven." _That was not her name._ The priest Kanarro was standing right behind her, resting his scarred hand on her right shoulder. She wanted to flick it away like an insect, but stopped herself.

Melony had not meant to look at the runes for so long, but there was something so fascinating about them it was hard to look away. She almost apologized for it, but he hadn't actually scolded her, and she was still curious. "What do these symbols mean? Why were they put here?" she asked.

"They were made some time after the last Great Darkness, the Long Night. I do not know their precise meaning, but they are a protection against the Great Other and his servants. They are what keeps the fires lit here from being put out again. There are a few here who can read these runes, though I cannot," he explained.

She silently nodded, half-understanding. She had never heard of any Great Darkness or the Great Other before, and as Kanarro guided her to the main part of the temple, she thought about his answer, saving the rest of her questions for another time. It was better not to seem over-eager for things you wanted, recent experience had taught her. _It only made it easier for other people to control you,_ she reflected bitterly.

* * *

 The inside of the temple was unexpectedly bright.  In contrast to the black stone, vivid tapestries hung on the walls. Passing through the main hall, she saw many fires, burning in hearths and wall torches, some of the flames strangely colored. A dark-haired woman approached, introducing herself as a steward, and led Melony up the stairs to her room before returning downstairs.

The room was the first she'd been in since she'd last seen her mother's home. To have a warm bed again felt like a luxury, after the past months of sleeping on the hard, damp wooden floor of the ship. There was a small basin and pitcher set on the narrow oak table in the corner, the pitcher filled with clean water, as well as three unlit candles, and a plate with some dried fruit and brown bread. A beautifully patterned rug was laid over the stone floor, dyed in deep scarlet red and warm shades of brown, with thin white lines outlining the patterns. There were two small windows on either side of the bed, which looked across the sloping black rooftops and the streets below the hill, and the Ash flowing down to the sea in the distance. 

She quickly washed her face and changed into the plain cotton robe that they had left her, tossing her old tattered shift to the floor before sitting down at the table. As she ate the bread and fruit, she thought about how strange this place was, the temple and city. The murky dark fog, the heavy silence, the huge, empty buildings, and the absence of growing things. The emptiness was one of the first things she had noticed. The walk from the port to the temple had taken over an hour, but she had seen very few people on the streets. And then there was the vague feeling of strangeness and uneasiness about Asshai that she couldn't exactly place, but it was almost overwhelming, almost tangible. Yet this place was almost as intriguing as it was unsettling. Even here, there were things that she found interesting, the art and language, and the diverse knowledge that had been preserved here. There was much here that she could learn, if given the opportunity, and even if that learning came to nothing else, she thought, at least it would be a welcome distraction. 

Exhausted, she went to bed soon afterwards. 


	3. Chapter 3

It had been several weeks since they brought her here, yet no one had ordered her to do anything. No one seemed to mind her wandering the seemingly endless halls and twisting passageways. It seemed so odd to her. She had expected them to demand things of her, to be made to scrub their floor or fetch their meals, be forced to perform endless menial tasks every day. Melony had expected at first to be shouted at, insulted, maybe even punished in some way for her curiosity. They called her an apprentice of R'hllor, rather than a slave or servant, but she wasn't sure if that was true. 

At first, she hardly left her room, but it soon became necessary. After the first day, if she wanted meals she had to go to the common dining hall for them. Few of the doors were shut, and less were locked. As long as she didn't get in anyone's way or interrupt anything, they didn't seem to be bothered by her presence. 

Sometime during the second week she had found a narrow hall with braziers lining both walls, a few of them left unlit, where a white-haired man was teaching three apprentices how to best read the flames. Interested, she stayed in the hall to overhear him, thinking she wouldn't be noticed. finishing his speech, he turned to the shadow-darkened corner where she stood. Melony gulped.

"You could hear the lesson better from over here", he said in a scratchy, somewhat amused voice. One of the acolytes snickered. Slowly she walked over, still blushing from the embarrassment. His name was Myrrik, he told her.

"You know what gave you away?" he said, half-smiling. "That bright hair. If you plan to be sneaking around this place, you'd best wear a hood." 

Wanting to change the topic, she asked "What you were telling them, about reading the flames. Can anyone do that?" 

"Not _anyone,_ but with enough effort and practice most can learn it to some degree. Some better than others," he said, shooting a sharp glance at the tallest of the acolytes, who was squinting hard in front of his brazier. "And if by _anyone_ you mean yourself, you're welcome to try." 

"I would like to", she said quietly, trying to mask her eagerness.Turning to the nearest fire and sitting down in front of it, cross-legged, she peered into the flames as Myrrik told her how a vision could be summoned from the flames. "Don't expect to see anything right away though, anything clear at least. It takes time, and a lot of discipline," he warned. 

Most of flame-reading was in training your mind, not your eyes. Your thoughts had to be clear, or it would never work, she learned. She practiced almost every morning. It took over a month before she saw anything. When she finally coaxed the first image from her flames, a simple flower, Melony felt both gratified and exhausted from the effort.

* * *

Just inside the main hall, on the left wall, was a passage that led to the Hall of Worship, where the red priests performed their ceremonies and prayers were sung each night. Then, the priests stood upon a high platform above the others. Everyone else said their prayers kneeling before the fire, contained in a huge round pit in front of the platform, the front of its wide rim inscribed with golden, ornate letters. She had quickly learned what it meant: 'For the night is dark and full of terrors.' Melony had heard it said so often that at first she foolishly thought it was just how people greeted one another here. 

There had been a ceremony held earlier that day, the first since she'd been here. Telara, another apprentice, had told her about it this morning at breakfast as an attempt at conversation, asking if she was going to attend it. She had not gone, though now she found herself wandering inside, long after it ended.

Inside the pit, smoke was still rising from the ashes of a burnt body, its bones loosely secured to a post in the center of the pyre. The stench was horrendous when you stood close to it.Tharonkar, one of the priests from the highest order, was still here, reading from an ancient-looking scroll. The ends of his robe were blackened with soot. "What did he do, that man you burned?" Melony questioned him suddenly.He paused for a moment, then turned to face her. "He was not punished," he told her plainly. "He was honored, a gift to the Lord."Melony frowned, not quite understanding what he meant. As far as she knew, the body in Tharonkar's flames hadn't bought them anything. 

"And what about me?" she asked. "Is that what I was bought for? As a sacrifice for the fire?"He softly laughed. _Did he take that as a joke?_ she wondered angrily. 

"No," he said, shaking his head sedately. "Is that what worries you?We do not give our own to the fires. What sacrifice is the blood of one who is already his servant?The Lord of Light wants your allegiance, not your blood. Do you take us for depraved murderers, to kill without reason, to burn men without cause? " 

"Did your lord R'hllor ask you for a sacrifice, or did you just think this might please him?" she asked. "Why does this god of _life and light_ require so much death?" 

Tharonkar sighed, looking at her like she were misunderstanding him, or being difficult on purpose. "It is because he values life so much, not because death pleases him. When we give him a life, it is to show our gratitude, our devotion. In return, R'hllor provides us with light, with warmth, with _life_ ," he said, drawing out the last word. 

_If you ever left the temple, would you still believe that your god gifts us so generously with light? Would Asshai seem bursting with life, even with all its emptiness and dark fog?_ she thought."Maybe you believe that, but I don't. It makes no sense to me." Melony didn't know what else she could say. "You will understand, sooner or later," he replied with certainty, turning back to his work. 


	4. Chapter 4

The years may have brought her understanding, as well as a growing belief in R'hllor, but they brought new doubts as well. She had dedicated herself to her arts, but that dedication had a steep cost. It took pain and energy, and often personal sacrifice, to develop her skill and knowledge so highly. Melony could draw increasingly detailed visions from the flames. It was these visions that gradually solidified her faith over time, demonstrating to her the Lord of Light's power. She could fluently speak the Asshai'i language, and had learned much lore that never made passed west into the Free Cities . Yet, still she was an apprentice.Still there was knowledge she was unable to access, and skills that would take years to learn. Her studies were far from complete.

It was not the Lord of Light she doubted, but many of the men and women who served in his name. Many seemed unable to separate their own beliefs and wishes from that of R'hllor's, seeing only what they expected to see in the sacred flames. They would interpret the fires in relation to themselves and their own lives, seeing signs of personal fortune where there were none. This attitude was not restricted to apprentices alone, affecting some of the high priests just as much. It was much worse when it was the high priests, Melony thought. They had little of the humility of the apprentices, and believed their station granted them greater closeness to R'hllor, that they were favored by by him and thus, beyond reproach or correction. The truest, the ones she respected, were those who could admit they had erred in their interpretations, who spoke plainly and without unearned pride. She found herself often preferring the company of some of the temple prostitutes, although she thanked R'hllor she had not become one. She might not be treated like a slave, but they were not as lucky. Telara, the girl who had tried to befriend her years ago, had not found success as an apprentice, and was relegated to the role of bed slave. Melony pitied her.

* * *

Melony was dreaming of home, of her mother's house by the sea, with its small garden and the willow tree, and the familiar sounds of falling waves and the loud calls of sea-birds. She knocked and called at the door, but no one answered, though it was unlocked, so she crept inside, feeling like a trespasser in her own home. _Was it still her home now?_ She could her her mother's voice somewhere inside, faintly humming an old song. Following the pleasant sound, she found her, weaving one of her tapestries in the small sitting room. Melony called out to her, but the aging face did not recognize her, but stared at her in suspicion, as if she was an intruder. She stepped closer, and her mother disappeared in an instant, leaving behind the unfinished tapestry with its long silky threads hanging loose, which tangled where they reached the wooden floor. Melony ran her fingers through them and they unraveled and unraveled until they were dust, coating her hands in thick grey ash.

She woke up to a flat silence, and stared at her clean hands. She wondered if the house was still there, if both of her parents were still alive, and why her mother was so old in her dream, why her hands had been covered in ash. It had been only twelve years since the ship took her here, and it would be at least a few decades before her mother would be so old. She shook her head and wiped her hands on the blanket, dismissing the odd dream and went about her day as usual.

* * *

The master alchemist Valdan stood hunched over her shoulder, watching as she burned the silver-colored seeds over a blue-green flame and ground them into a fine powder, while singing the spell that gave the powder it potency. If she passed this final test today, she would have free use of the alchemists' hall and its vast storage room, and would be allowed to sell her powders to traders down by the port, or to local merchants at one of the secret markets, or even keep them if she wished. They could used be for novelty or for specific purposes, depending on the powder.

There was something soothing and very satisfying about this work, in studying how combinations of both rare and common ingredients produced unique effects, and then completing the specific preparations taken to produce the powder. It seemed almost like cooking, in a way, though the end results were certainly not edible. 

The master alchemist turned back to his scroll on the adjoining table, marking down his critique or approval of her methods, as she carefully funneled the completed powder into a glass vial and handed it to him. He squinted at it, turning the vial in his hand, then set it down and marked his scroll one last time.

"Especially fine work. The quality's more than sufficient for our standard. Your spells still have some room for improvement, but you've met all the requirements." He nodded his approval and handed her a set of two iron keys, one for the hall and one for the storage room. This was not unexpected. She had spent the past three years working towards this test, steadily improving her skill.

"Thank you," Melony replied formally, placing the keys in the pocket of her robe. "I appreciate all the lessons from you and Myrrik, during the past few years." It was the truth. She was fond of them both. They were knowledgeable even in their old age, gave their advice and wisdom freely, and encouraged her study of the craft, likely because it was a craft few others were genuinely interested in anymore.

The day was ending, and she cleaned off her worktable quickly, in time to head to the nightfires and the evening meal.


End file.
